On The Headmaster's Secret Service
by James Jago
Summary: Fifteen years after the war, the so-called Heir of Voldemort begins a terror campaign against the wizarding world. Dumbledore is asked to head the taskforce of young men and women who sorted out the original Dark Lord back in their sixth year.
1. The Bomb

Many thanks to all my faithful readers and appreciative critics, especially Kittenmommy for suggesting a name for this fic (I'd been a bit stuck until then) and to Amber39 for just being my girlfriend, and not killing me for casting doubt upon the sexuality of her favourite Gerry Anderson character.  
  
Quick recap: This is the third of a trilogy. In the first, the children of Lucius Malfoy's rather more enlightened brother are sent to Hogwarts by the Ministry after their father's home magic coaching is discovered. The slightly older of the two, Richard Malone, is our narrator. He succeeds in negotiating an armistice with cousin Draco and snogging Luna Lovegood by the end of book one, not to mention indirectly causing Vernon Dursley intense embarassment and a serious stroke, in that approximate order. His sister, Francis, has had noisy sex with Hermione Granger by the middle of chapter 5!  
  
In book two the Golden Trio, the Malone siblings and Ginny Weasley are off to Romaina on a camping trip arranged by Charlie. Draco finally gives the Dark side the finger and finds himself along for the ride as well.  
  
The holiday is interrupted by the unexpected arrival from the future of professors Snape and Flitwick. They are equipped with the means to travel back in time (something which the two of them came up with involving some spiked Floo Powder and a Time Turner) and an ingenius means of sorting Voldemort out once and for all (a Smith and Wesson .45 revolver). The first part works more or less okay, but the second part needs a bit of backup. Who better to supply it than the Boy Who Lived and his buddies? The practical upshot of all this is that Lily and James (who I not-terribly-randomly moved in next door to my girlfriend's house!) are saved, and Voldemort is annhilated by nothing more magical than lots and lots of guns.  
  
Anybody wishing to obtain further evidence in order to have me institutionalised is advised to examine my one and only songfic over on FictionPress, which caused my offline friends to suggest some therapists I might call on. It's also an excellent argument in favour of gun control; if we didn't have strict gun laws over here Michael Moore would be making Bowling for Wollaston by now!  
  
I think I've wittered on long enough, now, so shall we get on with it?  
  
Juliette Lupin swore to herself in a strong New York accent which her friends had yet to get used to. Euan McCulloch, who was still slightly wary of her, backed away slightly.  
  
"What? You think I'm gonna bite you?"  
  
"Julie, I've known you for years and I'M still scared of you sometimes," Lucy Malone-Granger replied, trying not to giggle. "Wolfsbane does nothing for your temper the rest of the month, you know?"  
  
"Ah, your mom's a Tory," Juliette replied jokingly. "Well, at least one of them!" This was a bit of an in-joke; Lucy was the adopted daughter of Francis Malone and her partner, Hermione. Julie had an even less normal family; her father was a werewolf and her mother was an American (Author's note: see 'An English Werewolf in New York' by Kittenmommy for further details- it's in my Favourite Stories). Euan had easily the most unremarkable family life, though his parents both wrote novels for a living; his father specialised in techno-thrillers and his mother worked for Mills & Boon. He also hadn't even believed in magic until he was eleven, and it had been rather a shock to learn his mum's best friend was a witch, Harry Potter's younger sister no less!  
  
The clock above the ticket barrier showed fve to ten. "Hey, come on, the train'll be here any minute!" The three of them ran towards the barrier, dragging their cases behind them. They made it about half way before a massive explosion knocked them flying. There was a terrible rending and crashing, and then it all went black.  
  
"What happened?" Euan asked after a moment or two. He pulled his wand out of his back pocket, and muttered "Lumos!"  
  
"Bloody hell," he said to himself. All three of them were lying beneath a fallen slab of concrete, which was lying at an angle. It appeared to be propped up at one end by what was left of a concession stall, against which Juliette was lying awkwardly. Lucy was sitting up, swearing at the Provos or Al'Queda or whoever the hell it had been who pulled the old litterbomb trick.  
  
"Everybody okay?" she asked after a moment or two.  
  
"Think so," Lucy replied. "Julie's out cold, but I don't think anything's broken." Julie was regaining consciousness by now, and wincing.  
  
"What the hell happened?" she asked. "A bomb or something?"  
  
"Probably. Wonder who we've pissed off THIS time?" Euan had inherited a certain amount of cynicism about world affairs from his perpeptually liberal father.  
  
"Yadda, yadda. Pass me my bag, huh?" He complied, wondering why. Juliette rummaged in it for a few moments, and produced a toughened safety deposit box, which she unlocked with a key from around her neck. Inside were several hypodermics sealed in sterile wraps, set into foam recesses. They were marked Insulin, but the others had a pretty fair idea of what they really held.  
  
"Thank God somebody figured out how to extend this stuff's shelf-life," Juliette remarked. "Jeez, I hope we get out of here before it gets dark!"  
  
"We'll be lucky," Lucy replied. "It felt like half the bloody station fell in."  
  
Remus Lupin, for the first time in his life (except when he'd realised that he could lick his own testicles, which hadn't been all it was cracked up to be), wanted to fall to his knees and thank God he was a werewolf. He couldn't do so right now because he didn't have any knees to speak of, and also because he was busy.  
  
//Aha! There you are,// he thought to himself, barking excitedly to the seach teams. A few minutes later, two slightly bruised but largely unharmed children and an equally intact werewolf emerged from beneath the wreckage, blinkng against the harsh arc lights. A huge and slightly greying black dog was standing next to Remus, grinning in a doggy way. //I'm going to find the guy who bit me,// Remus informed his companion, //and kiss him full on the lips!//  
  
Two Aurors, fairly senior ones by their uniforms,wandered over. "Major Black, Lieutenant Malfoy on the telephone for you," one of them informed him. "Somebody's claimed responsibility for this." The dog nodded, and trotted off.  
  
Several minutes later, Sirius was reading a letter that had arrived at the Ministry earlier that day.  
  
"You may be surprised to learn that I am the son and heir of Lord Voldemort. I'm not particularly interested in purebloodedness or any of that crap -after all, the Dark Lord was half and half- and am simply intent in taking over the world. As you can tell, I'm learning to embrace non-magical means of causing death and destruction. They're just so much better at it than us, as the unfortunate events of some three decades ago prove." Sirius smiled wryly at that.  
  
From the Dark Side's point of view, 'unfortunate events' was a hell of an understatement. Apart from the fact that the Boss was dead, the spectacularly unmagical way he'd been killed (a large number of guns) had made the whole outfit look like a bunch of complete and total fools.  
  
It would appear that this individual had learned something from that business. No Death Eater would dream of using a car bomb, surely?  
  
//Merlin, what'll be the end of this?// Thirty people killed, including six Hogwarts students, and King's Cross station flattened. Well, the Minister ought to authorise Lt Malfoy's taskforce idea now! The 'Heir of Voldemort' had sounded like just another crank up until now. Thank God all the members of the Order of the -Basilisk, wasn't it?- were reserve Aurors.  
  
He sipped his tea, and turned to his computer to fill out the callup requests. //Everybody's going Muggle these days, even us! Maybe that's a good thing,// Sirius decided. //I'd certainly have paid quite a lot to watch Severus learning how to use an iMac...// 


	2. Settling of Old Scores

It was a long and hard match, against an extremely good lineup from the Manhattan Bandits, and I was KNACKERED. It was supposed to have been a charity match, not the All-American Cup. I staggered wearily through my front door, looking forward to a cold beer and the Firefly rerun on the Sci-Fi Channel.  
  
"Hi, Luna!" I called cheerfully. "God, what a day! Martin completely cocked up a Wronski Feint; you're supposed to pull up before you hit the ground and make the OTHER Seeker crash. Stretcher case, it was. I mean, honestly!" Silence. "Luna?" I glanced at my watch. 6:30; surely even Luna would be back from the office by now.  
  
I shook my head. Luna had complained that she didn't see enough of me with all my broom-customising activity in the garage every weekend, and yet she spent virtually every waking hour at the Quibbler trying to beat her own deadlines. But it was Tuesday, and the next issue wasn't due out until Saturday. Had somebody set fire to the printing press again? Maybe Rita had made some snide remark and started another row with Luna's mum; if she didn't double the circulation with her unbelievably bitchy column she'd have been fired years ago...  
  
There was a heavy thump upstairs. I pulled my Beater's bat out of my gym bag and advanced up the staircase. I froze on the landing, listening.  
  
"Listen, lady, you aren't prolonging your life expectancy like this!" a voice growled. "Where is he?"  
  
"I don't know. He's probably still at the Quidditch game. I don't know when he's going to get back, OK?"  
  
"Alright," a different voice said quietly, "we'll wait. Do we kill her now, or wait for him to arrive?"  
  
"We'll wait. I'm going to make him watch," the first voice replied. "His lot hammered the Falcons last week!" I very quietly reached up to the top shelf of the airing cupboard, and took hold of my pistol. It was a .357 Desert Eagle semiautomatic, a huge great thing which could punch a fist-sized hole in a car door.  
  
I booted the bedroom door down, gun in hand. Luna was tied to a chair that had been dragged from somewhere. Two men were standing over her, wands levelled, but Luna looked more annoyed than scared.  
  
"Holy-!" BLAM! The one on the left was hurled across the room with a hollowpoint round in the face. The other raised his wand, but BLAM! He slowly toppled to the floor with most of his chest missing.  
  
"Some people take their Quidditch far, far too seriously." I untied Luna. "You okay?"  
  
"Fine. They just caught me by surprise. I wonder what they wanted?"  
  
"Well, they're either both fans of teams who've lost to the Mustangs recently, or Death Eaters in plain clothes."  
  
"Or both, I suppose."  
  
"Yeah." I laughed. That's Luna for you. Always the one who'd amble dreamily along with the rest of us, and then suddenly make some comment twice as perceptive as anything that the supposed brains of the group - Hermione, Draco, and for some bizarre reason me- ever came up with. "An undiscovered gem," her father used to say of her. I'll second that any day of the week!  
  
I grabbed the bedside phone, and called the Ministry. "Major Black's office, please."  
  
"One moment, sir." There was a series of clicks, a bleep, and then:  
  
"Major Black."  
  
"Sirius, it's Rick. A couple of men broke into my house, and they were threatening Luna. I shot them both, and we need a cleanup team here FAST. The London Met are going to be well pissed if they see the mess in here."  
  
"Same goes for your cleaner, I suppose." Sirius laughed shortly. "I'll send a team down ASAP. Between that bomb at King's Cross and all these other attacks we've hardly got a spare pair of hands, but we'll manage something."  
  
"I'll bet. How's it going? Any leads?"  
  
"Some lunatic calling himself the Heir of Voldemort claimed responsibility. Could just be a weirdo, or it might be something significant."  
  
"Guess so. I'm going to call Harry and the others. The same thing might have happened to them."  
  
I rang off, and tried Harry's number.  
  
There was nothing but a number-unavailable message. This boded decidedly ill, at least to my mind. Maybe it was nothing, but I had a VERY bad feeling about it. I recharged the Desert Eagle's clip, and pocketed a couple more. In wordless agreement with me, Luna fetched her own pistol.  
  
"Ready? Apparo!" There was the usual rather uncomfortable sensation of dismantled atom by atom and hurled several miles, and we arrived outside Harry's house.  
  
Or what was left of it.  
  
Now, this sounds pretty dramatic. The clouds of smoke, the fire engines and so on. However, the ominous effect was spoiled by Harry standing before all this swearing into his mobile phone, apparently at the man who had 'repaired' the boiler.  
  
"TRANSCO approved? Hah! Not for long, sunshine!" he growled. I heaved a sigh of relief, and surreptitiously put the safety catch back on my pistol. It wasn't quite as bad as I'd first thought.  
  
Harry presented quite a different sight these days. No scar, a noticeable East Midlands accent, and contact lenses instead of the glasses which Dudley frequently broke. Messing about with the course of history had done him good.  
  
"Never hire a boiler repairman who offers discounts for cash," Cho remarked, putting down the bundle of salvaged clothing. "What a mess! Direct Line are going to just love us. Our premium's going to be higher than Eval Kineval's when they hear about this."  
  
"Well, if he had a TRANSCO sticker he's supposed to be competent," I replied. "If TRANSCO deny all knowledge of him -and I bet they will- you can probably sue for damages."  
  
"Were you in the house when the fire broke out?" Luna asked.  
  
"Yes. Scariest experience since..." We looked at each other, and snorted with laughter.  
  
~~~FLASHBACK~~~  
  
It was the day before the Yule Ball, and Cho was heading for one of the less frequently used toilets, namely the abode of Moaning Myrtle. It was her desire for a good theraputic bout of hysterics which had prompted this decision; of all people, Myrtle ought to be fairly sympathetic.  
  
She passed a furious Francis Malone, Ginny Weasley and Luna Lovegood, who were keen to establish the identity of the humourist who had transfigured Luna's favourite t-shirt into a straitjacket and written 'dyke' all over Fran's textbooks. Ginny had her Beater's bat, and Fran had her brother's, and students of all years were sanding well back as they passed. Even Mrs Norris attempted the record for the 100-metre Nonchalant Walk as the trio crossed her path.  
  
Cho half-smiled. She felt a bit sorry for Luna sometimes. Having backup from an enraged lesbian wouldn't hurt at all.  
  
Cho shut the door behind her, and opened the nearest cubicle, planning to sit on the seat and have a good cry. However, her jaw dropped as she saw Myrtle apparently locked in a passionate embrace with another semitransparent form.  
  
"What the HELL-?" she gasped. Myrtle whirled around, and screamed slightly. She fell off the lap of her companion, who hadn't fully grasped the situation until now. He and Cho stared at each other.  
  
"Um," said Cedric.  
  
Cho's prolonged and spinechilling high-pitched scream brought Fran and Luna running, to be joined shortly afterward by Harry, who had been nearby helping Hagrid move some furniture.  
  
"What happened? I heard..." He stopped, lowering his wand. "Oh. Erm..."  
  
"Hi," said Cedric awkwardly, thankful that ghosts can't blush.  
  
"You PERVERT!" Fran exploded. "She's what, thirteen?"  
  
"Well, I was when I died," Myrtle admitted, "but chronologically I'm ten years older than his mum."  
  
"Hmm, I suppose you might be right there." Fran withdrew from the conversation to consider the implications of this. Harry tried very hard not to laugh, fearing that Cho would either burst into tears, kick him in the bollocks or both.  
  
"You know, if I'd caught you snogging somebody else BEFORE you got killed," Cho said thoughtfully, "I'd be a lot better adjusted, you know?"  
  
"Oh," said Luna. "I should have told you I saw him kissing that Veela from Beaubuxtons, then."  
  
"WHAT?"  
  
"Well done, Luna," Ginny said quietly. "Just when we were getting towards defusing the situation."  
  
"You wentr behind my back with that French tart?" Cho screamed at Cedric. "You little...!" Screaming words that would have made Malcolm Reynolds blush, she chased Cedric down the corridor, throwing hexes after him. She returned shortly afterward, gasping for breath but looking more cheerful than any of them could remember.  
  
"That's that sorted out," she said brightly, and grabbed Harry and kissed him full on the mouth. With tongues and everything.  
  
"See, Luna? Sometimes you have to be DIRECT." Ginny giggled as her friend went a deep shade of scarlet. "Try it sometime, huh?"  
  
"On who?" Fran asked. Luna exchanged looks with Ginny. //Don't say it. Please don't...//  
  
"Your brother!" Ginny replied. //...Oh, shit. Thanks a bundle, Gin.//  
  
But she did the next day. And it worked.  
  
~~~END OF FLASHBACK~~~  
  
I would have given anything to be there when that happened, but I'd been in class and only heard what happened a few days later.  
  
Harry pocketed his phone and wandered over. "Hi Rick, hi Luna. What's up?" I was about to explain, but a car roared past, a machine gun firing out of one window. I threw myself into Luna and knocked her out of the line of fire, rolled gracefully -I'm a professional Beater so I know how to take a fall- and came up with my gun in my hands. I fired a couple of quick shots but hit nothing.  
  
"Bugger. It looks like somebody wants some payback for nailing Voldemort," I said, shoving the gun back into my pocket. "A couple of Death Eaters in plain clothes broke into our house and tied Luna up while I was out. I sorted them out easily enough, but this probably happened to the others as well. We'd better speak to Arthur about this like NOW." 


	3. Undercover Unpleasantness

We arrived at the Ministry a few minutes later, and I wasn't entirely surprised to observe that most of the others were already there. Hermione and Fran were clutching their twelve-gauges, and looked ready to kill somebody. The individual responsible for nearly killing Lucy, for a start.  
  
Draco was glowering even more; Ginny had been at the station to see Percy's eldest off, and narrowly avoided being killed. I smiled slightly at the sight of him saluting Sirius, which would have given my uncle Lucius a full-blown heart attack. It goes without saying that neither of them have spoken in several years, after Draco caused Lucius to get hit over the head with one of Vernon Dursley's crutches and then went on to get off with the youngest Weasley, help kill the Dark Lord and join the Aurors. After that little incident he'd finished up staying with us, and I tended to think of him as more of a brother than a cousin.  
  
"Good to see you again, Sirius," Harry said, shaking hands with his godfather. "Shame it isn't under better circumstances."  
  
"Yes," Sirius replied. "I have to report that you are being called up as of now, along with all other reservists." I wasn't surprised. We were all inactive reserve Aurors, with an average rank of second lieutenant. Harry was a captain, whilst most of the others were at least sergeant. I was lieutenant first class, as were Ron and Cho. "I'm assigning you all to a special unit, under the command of Albus Dumbledore, to locate and apprehend the individual or group responsible for these attacks." He paused. "Now all I have to do is sell Albus on the idea."  
  
"But why ME, of all people?" Dumbledore demanded. "You know I was never in favour of the stunt they pulled back in 1986!"  
  
"Exactly," Sirius replied. "There's half a chance you can keep them from doing anything so monumentally stupid again, which is more than can be said for me or Arthur."  
  
"I wish I shared your confidence, Sirius. Anyway, you have always endorsed their actions wholeheartedly."  
  
"Only because it worked. That was the most foolhardy thing I ever saw Severus do in his life, and I once saw him mixing Firedew in a glass beaker." Firedew is a kind of magical napalm that generates enough heat to melt a concrete block, and has a tendency to ignite unpredictably. They'd laughed about it later. "The only reason I didn't personally hex him until he couldn't walk was that it brought Lily and James back and nobody died except the bad guys."  
  
Dumbledore sighed. "All right, all right, you win. I'll try and keep them all out of trouble if I possibly can." //And a fat chance I have,// he thought to himself. //I couldn't keep Draco or Richard out of trouble when they were teenagers; what chance do I have now?// Neither's talent for mayhem had abated, though it was kept under tight rein during working hours, and the same largely went for the rest of the order. The results of a large big-game hunting exhibition in the Dark Forest three years ago were a good testimony to this. On the other hand, Dumbledore HAD found Arthur Weasley's old Ford Anglia useful for popping back home during term time...  
  
The ten men and women filed in, stood to attention and saluted. They looked remarkably military and precise for the tearaways he remembered them as, with the possible exception of Granger, who had invariably been the rarely-heeded voice of reason whenever anything really insane was afoot.  
  
"Sir," said Draco respectfully. "We've been ordered to report to you."  
  
Feeling slightly foolish, Dumbledore returned the salute. "At ease. As you can imagine, we are keen to put a stop to these recent goings on, and hopefully you will be able to help."  
  
"Yes, sir. We can say for definite that these attacks are linked in some way," Draco said thoughtfully, running a hand through his hair, "because there is NO WAY they can be coincidental."  
  
"True. My sources report that one of the vehicles used has been seen near the Malfoy residence, and it seems prudent to investigate this thoroughly." He caught a trace of alarm in Draco's expression. "I'm sorry, Draco. It is almost beyond doubt that your father will be involved in some way. It is also entirely possible that he will attack any one of you if he sees you."  
  
"Christ, I hope so." I blinked, looking at Draco in amazement. There was something in his eyes that made me want to run for my life. "Just let the bastard give me an excuse!"  
  
Three hours later I was hanging upside down beneath my broom, getting a marvellous lower body workout whilst trying to jemmy a window open, and wondering why the hell I'd ever agreed to this.  
  
//'You suggested getting in through an upstairs window, you get it open!' Hell, thanks a lot, sis. One of these days...!// I wrenched the window open and tumbled through, thankfully landing on a carpet into which I sank at least three inches. Under other circumstances this might have seemed funny.  
  
I double-clicked my radio's Send button, but got only a low-volume buzz of static from the huge background magic levels. No surprise around here, I concluded grimly. My torch wasn't working either, so I muttered 'Lumos' to myself. With the aid of some electrician's tape, I affixed my wand to one side of my pistol's barrel, and began to take in my surroundings. I was in a small and very dusty bedroom, with a number of posters of various rock bands. Metallica, Korn, Marylin Manson... This had to be Draco's old room, and I'll bet he didn't let his Slytherin pals in here much! I doubt Lucius would have thought much of this sort of thing either, though I wouldn't be remotely surprised if Manson had a Dark Mark.  
  
Very cautiously, I pushed open the door. Pitch darkness greeted me, only slightly countered by my impromptu substitute for the mini Mag-Lite in my pocket. I cursed silently, and moved towards Malfor Sr's study. I could recall most of the internal layout from odd summers spent here with my grandfather before he died and Lucius inherited the family seat, and Draco had brought us up to speed. He was covering the ground floor whilst Fran did the outbuildings, with the others waiting nearby in case of trouble.  
  
I tried the study door, and found it unlocked. I opened it VERY cautiously, gun upraised. It didn't have a silencer, but I'd be stuffed if I had to fire a shot anyway. I peered around the door, and froze.  
  
He was at his desk, writing something. He slowly turned around, his expression one of annoyance, and then stared in utter amazement at the exceptionally large semi-automatic I was pointing at him.  
  
"Oh," he said thoughtfully. "Is it worth asking what you want?"  
  
"I'll give you precisely five minutes to convince me that you didn't have a hand in the King's Cross bomb and all those attacks on some friends of mine. If you succeed -and I emphasise IF- then I will leave. If you don't, I'll be obliged to handcuff you and remove you to the Ministry for questioning."  
  
"Ah, I see. Well," Lucius said slowly, "I only read about that in the Daily Prophet ystrday. I didn't approve of it, I might add. Let the Muggles use such crude methods among themselves."  
  
"That's a bad word in my family," I observed coolly.  
  
"Ah, yes. Alexis never liked me using that word about your mother, either." I was caught a little off guard, as I hadn't expected him to recognise me. Uncle Lucius and I had met all of twice in the last quarter century, after all.  
  
"Are you finished? You still have..." I glanced at the clock on the wall, "three minutes left, and I'm not convinced AT ALL."  
  
"Oh, I'm finished, all right..." That was about it so far as conversation goes, because at this juncture somebody hit me right behind the ear with something impressively heavy. 


	4. The One Where It All Goes TitsUp

Draco heard the thud as his cousin made forceful contact with the floor, encouraged (I learned much later) by Bellatrix Lestrange and a large candle holder. //Oh, shit. So much for the 'covert' part of this covert operation!// He drew the pair of Tec-9 machine pistols he kept holstered at the small of his back, and cautiously advanced up the stairs.  
  
He ducked behind a large and rather ugly vase as he heard voices.  
  
"This is one of those kids who killled the Master. He's a Auror or something, I think."  
  
"But what the hell's he doing here? And what's this thing?"  
  
"Bella, be careful with that! It's a Muggle weapon, and if you pull that lever thing it throws lumps of metal very far and very fast, so please put it down. CAREFULLY."  
  
"So, what do we do with him?"  
  
"I'll lock him in one of the spare rooms. But before we do anything else we have to search the rest of the house, and the outbuildings as well. Not even a mudblood like him would be foolish enough to go in alone."  
  
Draco stepped out from behind the vase, guns pointed directly at both his father and his distant aunt. "Stay where you are. Throw your wands over here, and raise your hands above your heads very slowly. I strongly advise you not to try anything silly like throwing a curse at me, because these things have VERY delicate triggers and you never know where the shots will end up. If you're lucky you'll only be horrifically wounded."  
  
Lucius wore an expression that suggested he had just had a length of gaspipe shoved straight up through his colon, but tossed his wand at Draco's feet. Bellatrix hesitated, then followed suit.  
  
"Good. Now, you two are going to return to the Ministry with me, where you will be answering searching questions about the bomb attack on King's Cross. If you don't cooperate then I will take great satisfaction in shooting both of you."  
  
Lucius sighed. "Where did I go wrong with you, child?" he said more or less to himself. Draco thought about it.  
  
Draco smiled ruefully at himself. "The fact that I'm currently threatening you with a pair of fully automatic weapons tends to suggest that something has gone wrong somewhere, I admit." He paused, mulling his father's question over. "How about when you tried to turn me into an arrogant, self-centred bigot? The best I can say about you as a parent is that you failed to do so."  
  
"I don't know," a new voice remarked. "The more you do for them the less grateful they are."  
  
"Very deep, Mother," Draco replied. "However, somehow I doubt that Father sees things that way."  
  
Lucius just glowered at his son. Narcissa kept her wand pointed towards the ground, ready to use but not menacing anybody as she moved out of the shadow. She studied her son with care. He looked much the same as he always had, but there was something different about him. The way he stood, the set of his features... he seemed less imperious. More human. She wondered why.  
  
The explanation was simple: exposure to Weasleydom. The contrast between the two households had been quite a revelation to him.  
  
"Aaargh. Somebody's going to DIE for... What the HELL-?" I took in the scene around me with a certain amount of confusion, groping for my handgun. Lucius took advantage of the distraction to dive for his wand, and after that everything happened rather quickly. I can't describe it in great detail from my own recollection on account of a mild head injury, but the sequence of events as Draco recalled it it thus:  
  
Lucius got about six inches before getting five rounds through his chest. The other thirty-five from both guns did several hundred quid's worth of damage to the carpet, panelling and wallpaper, as well as smashing a rather ugly vase. Bellatrix screamed, attempted to lunge at him and scratch his eyes out and failed on account of me semi-accidentally shooting her in the side of the head. Draco holstered his weapons and grabbed me by the collar, thrust my gun into his waistband and legged it for the front door before anything else happened. By this stage the others were implementing our contingency plan, which consisted of shooting up the building in a manner calculated to cause more confusion than actual harm, hopefully allowing us three insurgents to escape without fear of being cursed in the back.  
  
It didn't quite go as planned. There were a large number of people in the main building -Draco had had a tough time avoiding them all- and they weren't as fazed by bullets as a non-practitioner of magic (the politically correct term for a Muggle) would have been. Some people never learn.  
  
It began to get complicated at about the same moment as I tripped and pitched headfirst into a bush. The language I used is best not repeated here. Fran had turned up from somewhere, and grabbed me by the legs. "What's wrong with him?" she hissed.  
  
"Concussion. Lestrange hit him with a candlestick."  
  
"Oh, you pillock!" Hermione's voice. "Hippocratius!" The pounding headache left, and I began to feel more normal.  
  
"Thanks. Give me my gun back, will you? I'm okay now." I staggered to my feet, snatched the pistol off him and ran towards the gun flashes.  
  
"Any luck?" Harry called cheerfully.  
  
"Not really!" A green bolt of light felled a nearby tree. "He's doing SOMETHING illegal, but I'm not exactly sure what! It's not impossible that Lucius really didn't have anything to do with the bomb!"  
  
"Okay, let's just get the hell out of here!" I nodded in agrement, but before we could fall back a dozen Death Eaters apparated right on top of us. I saw one of them raise their wand at Luna and threw myself in front of her, dimly hearing the word "Crucio!"  
  
Then there was nothing but pain, then nothing but darkness. 


End file.
